


of opposites

by rayfelle



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Pre-Canon, before first war with Voldemort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-24
Updated: 2017-06-24
Packaged: 2018-11-18 12:37:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11290887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rayfelle/pseuds/rayfelle
Summary: The snow has picked up outside of the old bus. Gilderoy sleeps undisturbed, his eyelashes long against his cheeks, mouth parted ever so slightly. The honey gold curls tickle Lucius’ neck.





	of opposites

Lucius is the frost that settles onto glass on early fall mornings. He is the cold wind that bites into skin after cold thunder storms. He is born from the Royal Blue of French blood, an old family that dates back for centuries and more.

Lucius is a son of the Malfoys. His mother knew not a word of English, refused to speak the language of the savages, the lesser ones. ( _she died when he was a young boy, barely_ _able to walk on his own feet_ )

He is to be wed to the young maiden of the Black family, the English royalty even older than his French roots. Lucius holds Narcissa’s pale hand in his own and smiles at her politely, bows his head to place a kiss on smooth knuckles and to whispers smooth comments into her ear when it is to be expected of him.

Lucius does not _love_. At least, not her.

…

The muggle town is quiet during this freezing winter. There is soft snow falling onto the fur lining the hood of Lucius’ jacket, the wool itchy against the almost unhealthy stretch of his skin over the sharp jut of aristocratic cheek bone.

It still feels wrong and unnatural to walk between the muggles when he was so much more than them. Not when he had power running through his veins, magic sparkling along his long fingers, igniting behind the pale of his eyes.

( _magic was not just power and strength, it was also life-force and energy, it was the air he breathes_ )

“You’re early again.” There is laughter in the newcomer’s voice when he speaks, a soft kind of adoration that rarely seems to appear when there are people that know and watch every movement unfolding before them with sharp eyes and even sharper ears. “That makes me look bad, Lucius.”

Lucius chuckles, soft velvet against the rough winter air. “Now, now, Gilderoy. We both know you are always late either way.”

“Touché.” Gilderoy slides down the icy path to fall down by Lucius’ feet. His golden curls are full of snow, eyes wide and hat lost somewhere along the way. “ _Dang it_.”

…

The bus they take is an old thing, with rust clinging onto the sides and metal bent in places. Lucius curls his lips in distaste, the inbred _need_ for the best, the _most_ and something more fitting his very being thrums through every move that he makes.

“Now, now, my dear, it’s not that bad. Look how warm it is inside.” Gilderoy slides his still cold and bright red fingertips along the bus window. His eyes sparkle like those of an excited child, the smile on his face wide and cheerful.

Lucius smoothes out the wrinkles in his knitted coat, brushes off the most stubborn of snowflakes that still refuse to melt. “Yes, yes. It’s all very fascinating. But unlike you, _darling_ , I do not often take part of these… mundane activities.”

“Spoken like a true Slytherin right there.” Gilderoy turns his gaze onto Lucius. There is still that young and carefree teenager from school days buried somewhere beneath the slowly rising author and adventurer ( _lies they may be, but when has magical world cared about the details_ ). “Don’t pout now; it’s _unbecoming of your status_.”

“Please, for the sake of my sanity, _do not_ try to speak like my father ever again.” Lucius sneers heavily. He wishes he could take out his wand and banish the dirt from the seat he sits on, the annoying child behind him that keeps kicking the seat.

But he promised Gilderoy to pretend for this one day.

…

The snow has picked up outside of the old bus. Gilderoy sleeps undisturbed, his eyelashes long against his cheeks, mouth parted ever so slightly. The honey gold curls tickle Lucius’ neck.

There is warmth that seeps from Gilderoy’s sleeping form through Lucius’ winter coat, into his skin and deeper through the man’s bones. The fingers intertwined with his are calloused and warm, not as slender or long, but with carefully filed nails and soft skin.

Lucius thinks of himself as winter, as frost and glass that cuts and never lets close. He’s been taught to be like that, to live like that, and to raise his children as such as well. There is Royal Blood in his veins, old and powerful magic that seems to be worth more than anything he could ever become.

Gilderoy is a half-blood that takes life as it is, plans only enough to achieve the fame he so wishes. He has no dreams of family and the next generation, he has no expectations to follow. Gilderoy is free as the wind, bright like the stars during nighttime.

The bus drives forward and Lucius looks down on the man whose head rests on his shoulders, whose arm is linked with his, whose smile has always been charming and sweet, a better weapon that magic will ever be in those clumsy hands.

There is silence, apart from the quiet grumble of the old engine and whispers of a mother telling her child of fantasy stories. Lucius pushes a stray lock out of Gilderoy’s face, slides his finger down the slope of his nose.

( _opposites attract_ )

…

Gilderoy is still pressed against Lucius’ side, but this time his eyes are wide open and peer at the fairy lights scattered between the century old buildings and illuminating the winter festival. There are people slipping between booths that sell warm wine and knitted gloves, music that pulls the willing into dance.

Their fingers are still clasped together tightly, warm kept between their palms.

“See? I told you this will be pretty.”  Gilderoy kicks at the snow under his feet and pulls Lucius along the cobblestone path that winds between booths and houses alike. “Nothing like your pompous pureblood parties. _Boooring_.”

Lucius purses his lips, thinks of the stiff dances he had led Narcissa in, the politics that had been hiding beneath every word exchanged, of the way his father judged silently and harshly. “Are you or are you not an _adult_ , Gilderoy?” He asks instead, for today is not a day to think about his decisions and his mistakes.

Gilderoy turns around and winks, as if it were a secret most important. “Perhaps. Come on now, I wish to show you where I spent my summers, since we’re here already.”

The air is alive with laughter and joy, with warmth that Lucius will never feel again. He is happy for now, for this one moment while he pretends that tomorrow he and Gilderoy will have to go back to being nothing more than strangers.

 …

Narcissa leans into Lucius’ side, her body slender and light against his own. She has her arms wrapped around his, her perfume seeps into his clothes.

Luicus smiles like has been taught to smile, compliments his wife on the dress and the gathering she had organized, politely inquires to his friends about their days in the Ministry. There is quiet string music that plays, no carefree laughter. This is usual, this is safe. ( _this is stiff and caging_ )

Gilderoy meets Lucius’ eyes across the dance hall and they hold warmth even now. But the fairy tale ends and both look away after just a few seconds that have passed.

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for a writing exchange of sorts, using two tumblr posts (one about the pairing and the other about the situation they are in), which I have lost already.
> 
> The pairing is a little weird, perhaps, but somehow I made it work. I hope you enjoyed. :)


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